


Scarlett's Interlude

by sakurachan811



Series: The Renegade Files [5]
Category: G.I. Joe: Renegades
Genre: Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakurachan811/pseuds/sakurachan811
Summary: Scarlett voices her regrets to DukeShe tells him he needs to get help, Duke for his part finally breaks down.
Relationships: Conrad "Duke" S. Hauser/Shana "Scarlett" M. O'Hara
Series: The Renegade Files [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815079
Kudos: 2





	Scarlett's Interlude

After everything that went down with Cobra being hunted for months on end and the stress of the constant surveillance and integration, then there was the trial. Having his reputation, his whole history, broken down and sifted neatly apart for all to see on the news. It was difficult to put it mildly.  
(His childhood )"While growing up in St Louis, Missouri had encountered obstacles-(They used to beat him up, steal his things I didn't tell anyone, I was just a kid) "Conrad was a good student getting A's in most subjects"

(His football career short as it was. "I guess I'm just a menace to society," he remembers telling his mom that.) "Playing for the St. Louis Eagles as a Quarterback, at seventeen Conrad Hauser had-" (Just one more game.) "His knee was broken during the championship game when the Falcon linebacker Flint-(He never missed a practice, never missed a game You sack me)-"Ending his dreams of college"  


(His military service) "Joining the Army soon after, having served three tours of duty the then proved himself with distinction. He disobeyed direct orders- was injured by,-- refused comendation for his actions at-. Having saved the lives of two others." (His character) "Was known to be friendly, loyal to a fault"  


(His ears start to ring in earnest when they talk about his family.His family, oh god not his family.) "His father having died when he was just twenty-five years old leaving behind a young Conrad and widowed mother." (dad, mom) "She remarried three years later, a younger brother Vincent Falcone. He had reported them to the authorities last December." (Before you put up the Christmas lights, always check he never did).

His picture, most recent at the hearing. He was in his dress uniform, pressed and clean shaven. All the broken peices and jagged edges carefully tucked away from the cameras, from the world. Well, except for the scar that was on full display. Couldn't hide that now, could he? After the verdict is declared there's silence before an explosion of noise and cameras flashing, protesters shouting.  


They walk down the steps and the crush of people is incredible. It's over it's over and done with. He’s a free man now, Tunnel Rat to his left. Roadblock to his right, why does he feel so trapped? He holds her gaze through everything, even as it burned him. Olive drab dress uniform: red hair, green eyes, long lashes, long legs, compact body with minimal curves, then she smiles at him a real one. His breath catches it's absolutely beautiful, just-her gleaming red of her hair the bombsburstinginair.

He's back on base.

"Duke?" A pause, beat "Hey Conrad, you okay?" He shakes himself mentally as if resurfacing from underwater. He answers something affirmative, they leave him alone after that.  
He lays still in his bunk and doesn't sleep, just waits for sunrise.

The brass think it's a good idea that they all go to individual therapy. Get a mental evaluation before going back into the field, that was part of the terms for placement on the newly proposed Cobra task force. He had no choice but to go, he was ordered to by the Army doctor. He had checked out physically for the most part, underweight by at least twenty pounds but still strong, still able to fight, to serve his country. He was prescribed a host of supplements that he was ordered to take daily with blood work every three weeks and a least ten pounds to gain before he can be considered for active duty.

His bones may felt like they were made of lead every morning, but his eyes still opened. He still got up, still breathed, still functioned. His parents had called him twice, he thinks. He's not exactly sure, he hasn't spoken to his little brother since Christmas, he just can't right now.

So that's how he finds himself in the office of an military trained psychiatrist for forty-five minutes every week. Go Army.  
"How are you feeling today?"  
"Better than yesterday." yesterday was a bad day, he'd woken up gasping, face wet. Stared at the damn ceiling for hours. Scars feeling tight, ready to explode out of his skin.  
"And how did you sleep last night Sergeant?"  
"Well enough."  
Much better than the first night when he didn't sleep at all, just layed there stared at the ceiling breathing, counted the individual pains he felt  
"Has your appetite improved at all?"  
Scratch, scratch the sounds of pen, paper.  
"Yes ma'm." Not really, but the doctor said he had moderate malnutrition so he chokes down all his meals like a good soldier.  
"Any nightmares?"  
"Yes." He's been having plenty of those, but just the usual suspects. Blood, plasmafire burning and screaming. He'd take them over the entirely Scarlett themed wet dreams, at least after the nightmares he could look Scarlett in the eye no problem, but variety is the spice of life and all that.

If he wasn't going out of his way to avoid her, that is.

He's not sure when his responsibility had started feel more like a noose around his neck. Definitly after he'd saved Skoog took an explosion to the back for him even, didn't die.  
He'd bailled from a flaming helicopter once, that castle he remembers. He still doesn't die, instead he lands in a fucking well because of course he does, he gets the sickest he's ever been, doesn't die. Fights the Cobra Comander in an actual mecha, still doesn't fucking die.  


So sue him if he's hyperaware of being alive he feels...he feels? Right now he feels raw and fragile, like his insides are made of broken glass and razorwire. One wrong move and he'll shred himself from the inside out, kill everything good. He’s so very tired of it all, he's tired and worn down, he doesn't know how much longer he can keep from falling apart.  


His eyes flick over to the clock only once, he has a system, doesn't want her to think he's counting the minutes. Therapy's over, he gets up pretends to have a choice in this. Walks straight out of the office, cool as you please. Only thinks about how sharp the knives on the base are a little. He should use his free hour to rest, read a book, call his parents maybe. That makes the choice for him really, goes down to gym instead.

This isn't the first time he's gone to the gym on rec time, pounds the boxing bag until his knuckles bleed through the wraps and his arms shake, then goes some more until his muscles feel like wet sand, his shirt's soaked and he's blinking the sweat out of his eyes. This is however, the first time someones caught him.  
He's surprised by a sudden angry call of his name, he startles a little, turns, sways on his feet. He firms, stands his ground.  
"Scarlett?" He pants out.

He decides to play this casual, after all he belongs here, he's done nothing wrong. That only seems to set her off, she quite simply explodes. She steps aggressively into his space and then she screaming at him, Scarlett doesn't scream, doesn't loose her cool. It's the most terrible thing he's seen. He's so surprised that he just watches her mouth move. Ruthlessly tamps down the urge to kiss her. Eyes burning, face flushed He's withering in the face of her fury. Then those big captivating eyes of hers run, and it hits him like a sucker punch to the diaphragm that she's crying. He did this her,  
he did this.  
The very last peice holding back the flood inside his mind shatters into tiny pieces under the strain, he crumbles. He's laughing even though none of this is funny, and there's a hysterical edge to it he can't stop. he can't, It hurts so much that tears roll down his face. He can't breathe, then she's reaching for him, he steps back and away. 

His mouth tastes like pennies, and he's so, so cold.

She's staring at him, gasping for breath, bloody, sweaty and shaking all over. "It's over, its over, it's over," She holds him close as he shivers. He doesn't fight her when says "Conrad you have to get help."  
"For everything?" He asks wetly.  
"Everything." She agrees, a solemn oath.


End file.
